something, and I’m leaving myself a reminder. The phone I gave you has the same capability. And it’s also a camera.” Milton spoke into the recorder and then put his phone away.
“What’s the man’s name?” Stone asked.
“Tyler Reinke. He lives out near Purcellville. I have the street address.”
“I know the area. Did you find out where he works?”
“I checked everywhere I could get into, and I can get into quite a few places. But I didn’t find anything on him.”
“That might mean he does work at NIC. I don’t think even
“It’s possible.”
“Did you find anything on Jackie Simpson?”
“Quite a bit. I printed it out for you.” He slid a folder over to Stone.
He opened it and gazed at a laser printer picture of the woman. Alex had been right, thought Stone; the attitude was evident on her features. Her home address was in the file too. It was close to WFO. Stone wondered if she walked to work. He closed the file, put it away in his knapsack and told Milton about NIC having the suicide note and the possibility of his prints being on it.
Milton let out a deep breath. “I knew I shouldn’t have touched that paper.”
“Would you still be on the NIH database?”
“Probably. And the Secret Service printed me when I sent that stupid letter to Ronald Reagan. I was just so upset with all his budget cuts on mental health.”
Stone hunched forward. “I wanted to have a meeting tonight at Caleb’s condo to go over things, but now I’m not sure if that’s safe.”
“So where do we meet, then?”
Just then Stone’s cell phone rang. It was Reuben and he was excited.
He said, “I met an old buddy of mine for a beer. We fought together in Nam, and we joined Defense Intelligence at the same time. I heard he’d just retired from DIA, so I thought I’d have a drink with him and see if he’d open up a little about things. Well, he told me NIC had pissed everybody off by demanding that all terrorist files be turned over to NIC. Even the CIA’s files were purged. Gray knew that if he controlled the flow of information, then he controlled everything else too.”
“So all other intelligence agencies have to go to NIC for that information?”
“Yep. And that way NIC knows what everyone else is working on.”
“But by law, NIC oversees all that anyway, Reuben.”
“Hell, who cares what the law says? Do you really think the CIA’s going to be absolutely truthful about what it’s doing, Oliver?”
“No,” Stone admitted. “Telling the truth would be counterintuitive for it as well as having no historical basis. Spies always lie.”
“Is the meeting tonight still at Caleb’s?” Reuben asked.
“I’m not sure that Caleb’s . . .” Stone’s voice trailed off. “Caleb?” he said slowly.
“Oliver?” Reuben said. “Are you still there?”
“Oliver? Are you all right?” Milton asked in a worried tone.
Stone spoke quickly. “Reuben, where are you?”
“At the disgusting shack I call my castle. Why?”
“Can you pick me up at Union Station and take me to my storage place?”
“Sure, but you didn’t answer me. Is the meeting still at Caleb’s?”
“No, I think instead . . .” Stone looked around. “We’ll meet here at Union Station.”
“Union Station,” Reuben repeated. “That’s not exactly private, Oliver.”
“I didn’t say we were
“You’re not making much sense,” Reuben said grumpily.
“I’ll explain it all later. Just get here as quickly as you can. I’ll be waiting out front.” Stone clicked off and looked at Milton.
Milton said, “What are you going to your other place for?”
“There’s something I need from there. Something that might finally make sense out of all this.”
CHAPTER
35
“NO ONE SEEMS TO BE HOME,” Tyler Reinke said as he watched the front of Milton’s home from the car outside. He glanced at a file on Milton Farb. “Threatening to poison President Reagan’s jelly beans sort of tanks your career opportunities,” Reinke added wryly. “That may be why they didn’t come forward. Because of his record.”
Peters said, “What I want to know is, what was he doing on Roosevelt Island in the middle of the night?”
“I say we wait until later and then go exploring. If he’s in hiding, chances are he left something behind at his house to show us where he is.”
“In the meantime I think we should take another trip to Georgetown. Somebody might have seen something that night that could be helpful,” Peters said.
“And it might not hurt to take another look at the boat while we’re there,” Reinke added.
Captain Jack adjusted his hat and rubbed a finger against the yellow rose sticking out of his lapel as he surveyed the inside of his new property. The garage was large with three expansive work bays. However, the place was empty now except for one vehicle that was receiving the complete attention of his “mechanics.” Ahmed, the Iranian, wiped his brow as he came up out of the oil pit cut into the floor of the garage.
“How’s it coming?” Captain Jack asked.
“We’re on schedule. Have you talked to the woman?”
“That piece is in place and ready,” Captain Jack said. “And don’t ask again, Ahmed,” he added, looking stonily at the man. The Iranian nodded curtly and swung himself back down into the pit. Soon the sounds of power wrenches filled the space, and Captain Jack stepped out into the sunshine.
Ahmed waited a few more minutes, and then he reemerged from the pit, walked quickly to the worktable and slid out a long-bladed knife from an oily cloth that he’d hidden under some tools. He placed the knife under a piece of carpeting in the back of the vehicle and then popped the carpet back into place.
Outside, Captain Jack climbed into his Audi and drove to the apartment across from Mercy Hospital. One of the Afghans let him in.
“Are the weapons here?” Captain Jack asked.
“Carried them up piece by piece in paper grocery bags like you said to.”
“Show me.”
The man led him over to the large-screen TV set up in one corner of the room. Together they moved the TV out of the way, and the Afghan used a screwdriver to pry up the carpet, exposing the padding and subfloor. Here the subfloor had been cut away and replaced with plywood. Under the plywood Captain Jack could see that short lengths of rope had been attached to the floor joists in six-inch intervals. Lying on top of the ropes were two assembled sniper rifles with high-powered scopes.
“I’ve heard of the M-50s but I’ve never used one,” Captain Jack said.
“It’s got digital optics so no visible signature; it chambers the twenty-one-millimeter cartridge with environmental sensors built in, together with multithermal detection.” The Afghan knelt down and pointed to one part of the rifle. “It’s also got a neural feedback system that cancels muscle twitch.”
“I never needed that to do the job,” Captain Jack said matter-of-factly.
“And it’s coated with advanced Camoflex so it blends in with its surroundings with a push of this button. Its
